He does not live here, but it is forever his home. Still, his chambers have been long since emptied. In his forever home, King Balthazar is strangely homeless, a golden vagabond. But he still has connections.
     He managed to eat, though not quite as much as you have seen him. He tasted just about everything, sipped just about everything that could be sipped, and sampled combinations of fruit and chocolate and meat and chocolate. But there was only so much talking he could do.
     Balthazar is quiet as he walks you to your rooms, his arms around you, the stroll an exercise of embracing in motion. No one bothers him; few are out in the halls at this hour and fewer still in the halls of the royal family, which extends to your apartments.
     He doesn't continue to discuss what to do about Madison, how your family should be notified, or when, or any of the permutations of wedding discussions. All things will work out as they will and can. Balthazar gives all of that up to God to sort out. For He is the one making the mess.
     As you and he approach your door, the grand double doors of the future Sun Queen, Balthazar only thinks about, only feels, what it is like to walk with you and to hold you and how much he has missed doing it during the last few weeks of kingdom building, political tumult and... now this. You are the warmth that your sun needs.
     His already slow pace slows again, stopping with you at your doors. Not giving a thought for gossip (or a damn for it or politics), Balthazar lifts your chin with the soft touch of his hand, and kisses you. "Do you mind if I stay a while?" he murmurs.

     She leans in against you, giving the only comfort she can. Her presence is not going to be enough, as much as she wishes that it could be. Silence can be uncomfortable - certainly the present silence is heavy. But she allows it to stand, not rushing to fill it with chatter.
     "Of course," Gillian answers quietly, smiling up at you and answering your kiss with a small one of her own in return. She pats your chest gently. "Come in, sweetie. If anyone objects I'll give 'em what-for." She is still American. But she loves you; she responds to your pain with the desire to ease it.

     He wishes he knew what to say. What does one say when one finds out one's father is leaving? Dying. Moving on. Whatever it will be. Even if distraction is a pantomime, he's alright with theater.
     Balthazar steps in with you, closing the door behind you, having held it for your entrance. And then he looks to your view, your curtains pulled back and most of your lights turned low. It's just dark enough to be soothing.
     His arms come around you again. "I just want to hold you," Balthazar says quietly, his voice a hush in the event of lurking servants. "God, I can't imagine going through this alone. Not having someone to turn to. If you weren't here, my love, I'd be a sorry sight." His mouth finds your temple, pressing warmly there as he takes a seat.
     Your servants are in bed. Only Mahasti is awake at this hour but hearing you come in with Balthazar, she does not move from her chamber and Gavin has long turned in for the night.
     Balthazar sits forward, his hands coming up to his face to rub his skin, his eyes. He sits back and turns to you, opening up an arm in invitation for you to join him. "You will let me know when you're sleepy, hmm? And I will let you go to bed. I don't mean to keep you up all hours. We have a long day tomorrow as it is. I'm just... not wanting to say goodnight yet. To anyone." He smiles a little at that, his eyes fixing on you while reflecting inward on his thoughts.

     "I'm here," Gillian murmurs, and she moves to join you, curling up in your lap rather than next to you. You require comforting, and physical comfort is what she primarily can give. "You do not have to say goodbye, sweetie. Or even good night."
     It wasn't her intention, but ... all the same, she leans in to kiss your cheek, resting up against you. "Do you want to stay with me tonight?"

     His arms enfold you and his wings slide into view, your own personal northern lights, as you curl up in his lap. Balthazar swallows, closing his eyes. He turns his head and brushes a kiss against your forehead, returning yours placed upon his cheek. "I want to stay with you every night," he murmurs his truth.
     Balthazar tilts his head, turning it and bending so he can place a gentle kiss upon your lips. "I would like that, yes," he whispers. His golden eyes look to you. "I hate to leave you on a normal day," he admits with a slight smile. "Tonight... I don't think I can. I would sleep at your door on a pallet on the floor if nothing else. I just... I have missed you so much."
     And pains of separation have been magnified by the feeling, the understanding, the knowledge of what his father must be feeling to face what may be a permanent separation. That is in his hold, however gentle. It is in the kiss that slowly finds its way in the darkness.

     "I know," Gillian whispers. She has missed you as well. The separation has been hard; even if necessary, her hands coming up to frame your face. "I know. I ... can't even imagine how much it must be hurting you, dear."
     Her eyes prickle with unshed tears. As arrogant and self-centered as sometimes she can be, right now she is focused on you, on your pain and your need. Her arms go around your neck and she kisses you, lips parting against yours. "I'm here," Gillian whispers. It is no substitute. No replacement for what you are losing. But she gives of herself freely, completely.

     It is better than food. It is you. Alcohol and sugar cannot compare to you. There is no forethought. There is no plan. There is just your mouth, and his mouth. Your unshed tears, and his held back in the brass of his eyes. Balthazar seeks the best comfort, the only comfort in the universe to him: your love. Your love and your skin.
     You are my family. You are my soon to be wife...
     Those thoughts, those truths are held within his own mind and heart. Balthazar looks to you in the close quarters in which he holds you. "I don't want to be apart from you, Gillian," he murmurs. "Time spent without you by my side is... time wasted. Perfection..." That thought stops him for a moment. "Perfection doesn't exist. There is no perfect anything. Just people doing or trying their best, and loving the best way they know how."
     No perfect kingdom. No perfect courtship. No perfect wedding. No perfect marriage. Just... the best we can do, just trying our best, trying to love the best way we know how.
     "I will always endeavor to be the best man I can, the best husband that I can be to and for you, the best father that I can be, the best king that I can be. But... love... for me... King is third on the list. It's my job. My life... the life I care about... is the one I make and spend with you. Don't ever let me forget that, Gillian."
     His hand brushes back your hair and scoops it into his grasp as he seeks the solace of your kiss. What is important is this. You in his arms, his mouth seeking yours in the darkness. Balthazar shifts, embracing you and lying with you on the sofa.

     She sighs, settled up against you, and she tells you, "I won't let you forget. I'm here," Gillian's voice is quiet. She lets you speak, lets you voice your pain, your need for anchor in your own way, accepting it and letting it wash over her. "I am here, sweetie."
     What else can she tell you? There's nothing, really, and she's wise enough to realize it, giving you her unconditional support in this time of your need. One small hand lifts, touching your face. "Do you want to get married tomorrow?"

     Even in the darkness, you can see the emotion in his face, his eyes. You would do that? Balthazar lifts a hand, brushing a gentle touch to your face in echo of your own. He brushes back a strand of strawberry blonde hair.
     "Marry me in my grandmother's garden tomorrow," he whispers, smiling though his eyes water. "Even if it's snowing. Especially if it's snowing," he counters quietly.
     And then he will be able to see it...
     "And in the spring we will have the ceremony for your parents and family as scheduled. For us, a reaffirmation." He bends, his mouth plucking a kiss from your lips and then returning it with melting warmth.

     "It is the best way for your father to be here," Gillian answers you, voice quiet. She leans in to kiss you, to return your kiss with the crackle of ozone in the distance, a comforting crackle rather than that of menace. She lifts her hand further, touching your hair, then dropping it to your shoulder. "It's important to you, I know it is. If we wait... you will always regret having waited, sweetheart. I'm not that cruel."
     You are the reason she is getting married. The wedding is set dressing, and while it may be important in its own way - you are more important to her than that. "Tomorrow. We should probably tell someone," she confides in you, "but ... do you really want to wake anyone up for this?"

     Balthazar nods. Yes, yes you do see; yes, yes you do understand. The moisture held in his eyes is still held. He smiles to you. "You're not cruel, no," he whispers. "The furthest thing from it, actually."
     Settling down, he surrounds you with his arms, drawing you in close. A wing is the best blanket. Just a duvet would never do. "We will go to the Kingdom of the Flowering Tree in the morning and tell them ourselves then. No need to wake anyone. Sleep will be hard won as it is. And then... I think noon? We should be able to get everyone herded together for that. And if not... then we will aim for sunset."
     Balthazar rests his head against yours as he shelters you in his hold. You are protected, cherished, loved. And in, in loving you, finds the gravity he was seeking. "Gillyflower," Balthazar whispers after a moment more of quiet reflection. "Thank you for being here. And for understanding."

Posted by rowan at August 15, 2010 11:06 PM